


War is Cruel

by Oath_Of_Three_Arrows



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: I broke rule one of Casphardt, I dont know why Linhardt switched to blue lions i took liberties with the fact anything is possible, This is angst so get yourself ready, happy easter, just revel in pain with me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-12
Updated: 2020-04-12
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:20:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23615881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oath_Of_Three_Arrows/pseuds/Oath_Of_Three_Arrows
Summary: War is cruel. It divides friends, families. It brings out the worst of confrontations.In the midst of the blood of the eagle and lion, Caspar finds his best friend.
Relationships: Caspar von Bergliez/Linhardt von Hevring
Comments: 2
Kudos: 20





	War is Cruel

Caspar was never the type to describe himself as “brainy” or other such learned terms. Sure, he’d attempted to study as much as his limited attention span and understanding of topics gave him, but really he was not the academic type. What he lacked in the classroom he more than balanced with prowess in the field. Caspar was good with his hands. Quite literally, in fact. With prowess with axe and gauntlet, any question that he couldn’t answer by thinking it through he most certainly could resolve with a swift clean punch or two. 

Besides, Caspar had always had someone else to do the thinking for him. 

To contrast Caspar’s brawlishness entirely, Linhardt hardly looked like the suitable soldier type. In truth, he was far, far from it. Good in theory with weapons, unwilling in practice and certainly lacking any desire to be anywhere near anything resembling a front line. Linhardt also had a terrible case of haemophobia that caused him to start becoming well at mention of the substance, and outright vomit and faint at the sight of it. Compared to Caspar, his friend was a terrible excuse for a recruit… Or so many assumed. 

That was why they had always worked so well together. 

For what Linhardt lacked in battlefield prowess, he made up for in his intelligence. He was able to far surpass even the most experienced of imperial strategists, even if requiring more than a hard nudge to apply himself to do so, and showed maturity and wisdom far beyond his years. Linhardt took what he knew from his own research and applied it in his own way, as an adept healer and mage, even if the most unwilling to do so when ordered to by anyone other than his own self interest. Like chalk and cheese, Caspar and he could not have been more worlds apart. 

Perhaps that was what had made them become best friends? 

So why had everything come to this? 

Caspar’s boots made an unsatisfying squelch as they pounded through sodden grass and churned mud. Mixed rainwater and seeping blood from freshly slaughtered soldiers, causing rivers of oozing darkness along what might once have been pleasant farming land. The mud and gore clung to him, seeping under once polished armour and dying the leather of his boots an evil black colour, a permanent stain to remind him of where he once trod. Still, he ignored it, and continued his advance. Around him the other soldiers’ boots, the same imperial make, stampeded around him in a cacophony of squelching, intermingled with the shout of angered men and clash of weaponry. 

His own axe, bloodied but still sharp, was clutched close to his side as he continued his onslaught. Total focus on his surroundings, every sense dedicated to the danger that surrounded him, and how to defend himself. An attack to the left, swing and parry, return twice as hard. Arrows above, duck, run and keep running til the sound of them piercing the ground - and the less fortunate ones - ceased ringing in his ears. The awful, harrowing screams of his dying comrades Caspar attempted to block from his focus, as the stench and sight of blood clouded his vision and smell. It was overwhelming, but he needed to live. 

Caspar had made a promise, he fully intended to pull through with it. 

He just had to find him. 

Just had to…

“Linhardt!” 

Caspar’s voice was hoarse from yelling in battle, but he still found the voice to call out to his friend. The rest of the grotesquery became a blur, his vision solely upon the man bedecked in green, keeping back from the front line. Linhardt’s clothing was frighteningly clean, as the man stood in full concentration upon the spells he was casting. Caspar didn’t know the names of them, though he was sure Linhardt had likely tried to tell him multiple times, but he could recognise the white magic of healing and recovery spells bathing injured soldiers in light. 

Linhardt wasn’t fighting directly, but the battle was closing in on him. 

“Linhardt!”

Caspar tried again, raising his voice as loud as he could. His body strained harder to close the difference between them, lungs on fire from the exertion. He thought for a moment he saw his best friend glance towards him, but Caspar couldn’t be certain. The minutes stretched and felt like hours as he ran and ran, swinging both his axe and fist to deflect those who got in his way, pushing harder and harder to get himself closer...

“Caspar?”

Oh thank the goddess he’d never been happier to hear someone utter his name before now. Caspar’s body seemed to find the energy to close the remaining feet between the two of them, almost staggering as he reached Linhardt. From his vantage he could see the look of worry in his friend’s eyes, almost fearful at the sight of him. Of course… Caspar realised only far too late to remedy, he was drenched in blood - though at least thankfully not his own. 

“I found you,” he croaked, a long-unused smile returning to his lips as he tried to reach out to Linhardt. 

His companion seemed to sense something Caspar did not, for the look of surprise at seeing him after all this time quickly turned to fear. Caspar was transfixed in confusion as he watched those hands that until then had been healing others, suddenly change and begin to conjure a much more dangerous spell. Had Caspar been wrong all this time to seek out his friend? Were they really too late to rekindle? Time slowed as he attempted to call out protests, don’t do this! pleads, It’s me? Caspar? Why are you? Before it finally clicked in his mind that Linhardt wasn’t looking at him.

The spell, a cutting gale of black magic, soared over Caspar’s head and grounded a pegasus knight mere inches from burying a lance into his back. He’d been so focussed on Linhardt he hadn’t even heard the beat of wings until the spell grounded them. Horse and rider fell to the ground, a sickening crunch of broken wings and crushed rider, and Linhardt’s gaze returned to Caspar. 

“Why are you here, it’s dangerous to be this close to me Caspar, you should know that.”

Relief and annoyance at hearing the lecture, Caspar allowed himself to breathe once more, and ran to his friend. 

“Whaddya mean why am I here!?” he protested. “I saw you! I’ve not seen you in five years Lin! I… I..”

He’d missed him. The two of them had been inseparable in childhood. If it were not their father’s business leading them to visit one another often, then it was at Caspar’s demanding request that he go and wake Linhardt from constantly napping to beg for his attention. Even at school, despite their differing strengths in classes and on the training fields, they’d still spent hours and hours in each other’s company. Linhardt would brave the early mornings at the training grounds for Caspar, and in return Caspar would endure the soporific haze of a library full of books he didn’t care much for. In their opposing interests they had thrived well together, a balanced yin and yang on the battlefield. 

And yet it had drawn them apart. 

“It has been a long five years, yes,” Linhardt agreed with a nod. “You’ve grown exactly as I expected you would, Caspar. You finally got that growth spurt you promised me was coming.”

Caspar could have tackled him. After all this time.. And that was what he chose to bring up? They were older now, and Linhardt in all his annoying tones was absolutely right. Caspar had filled out more in muscle, and got the growth spurt he’d prayed every night to the goddess for. (Linhardt had been wrong to call him foolish for that he could now say). Gone was the uniform and in its place was armour befitting of a Bergliez general. 

Linhardt had barely changed. There were a few details, his hair was much longer now and he’d chosen to sweep it half up in a bun, and his eyes bore a great deal more sadness than when they had been children. But still, he was the same skinny, tired looking friend that Caspar had known since infancy. A friend he would recognise and go to the end of the world for. Just as he had.

“I told ya I would!” was all he could muster for a reply. But Caspar knew Linhardt was observant enough to note the sadness in him. 

“I got stronger, and better than I was five years ago… but… Lin I…”

“I missed you too, Caspar. And, despite this war being a terrible bother for all of us, I am happy to see you alive.”

The two took a step closer to each other, and Caspar could have sworn that the rest of the battlefield melted away as they did. He kept his eyes watching Linhardt’s, searching those azure hues for anything that might tell him what to do. His friend’s gaze was sad, like Caspar imagined his own was, and it sent a pang of guilt and sadness through him. For not trying to see him sooner, for not making more of an effort to write or contact in any way. For -

“Lin… I’m so sorry I never joined you,” Caspar confessed. 

“Oh come now Cas,” the mere use of his nickname from Linhardt made Caspar’s heart pick up a little. Even now, among all this chaos, it was a comfort. 

“I couldn’t have asked you to go against what you believe in, our friendship aside you are still your own person…”

“You coulda tried harder! Or… I shoulda… I… I don’t know Lin.. Lin and now this! A war with us on opposite sides and I hate it!”

Linhardt sighed, one hand brushing a strand of his hair back behind his ear. Caspar noted how soft it looked, even on the filthy battlefield. 

“Caspar, don’t start to argue with me over this. We knew what we were doing when we picked our sides. Eagle and Lion were destined to clash once more, and this is simply what result we should have expec-”

“Linhardt! Don’t bullshit me with that!” Caspar clenched his fists and tried his best to draw up against him. Even now, five years older, Linhardt was still the taller one of them. 

“We could just leave! Get out of here… find some peaceful place with a tree you can nap under and all that… It doesn’t have to be like this Lin!”

“Cas… You know as well as I do that neither Edelgard nor Dimitri are going to let us walk off this battlefield alive. This is how it ends, with one of us walking away the victor, and the other meeting their maker.”

Caspar shook his head in disbelief. Was Linhardt determined to be this pessimistic? Of course he knew, he hated that he knew he spoke the truth. Edelgard would have his head if he turned turncoat on her, and likely Dimitri would do the same to Linhardt for this. But why… why had it come to this he couldn’t understand at all. Did the goddess truly want them to slay one another this way?

“I can’t kill you,” Caspar’s voice was barely above a whisper. 

“This is the first time we’ve ever fought after all,” Linhardt agreed. “I don’t think we’ve ever even so much as hurt one another unintentionally…”

The already sour atmosphere grew heavier, and the clashing of soldiers around them began to ring back into Caspar’s consciousness. They were at war. War had consequences. It didn’t care that families turned on one another, that friends came to clash together. War was relentless, merciless - Caspar had seen it all first hand of course. Had this been how it was when Ashe fought Lonato? When Sylvain fought Miklan? Was this… 

“I don’t want you to hold back on me, Caspar,” Linhardt’s deadly calm voice cut through his thoughts.   
“And likewise, I will not hold back on you. I won’t let this be one of us laying down our heads to the slaughter. Caspar. If we fight, fight me with everything you have to give.”

“But..” Caspar’s hands shook holding his axe. “It will be bloody.”

“War is bloody! As much as I hate it… I have come to accept that. It’ll be like training, Caspar. Just come at me with everything you have.”

“I don’t want-”

“I know. Neither do I. But we have no choice.”

“You’re right. I hate that you’re right.”

Linhardt sighed. 

“I hate that I’m right too.”

Steeling himself, Caspar took one last look at Linhardt. Trying to fight back tears he wanted to cry. He could see his friend, no… His enemy he tried to rationalise. He could see his enemy’s hands glowing, readying himself with magic. 

“Fine, don’t hold hold back on me either.”

“I won’t.”


End file.
